“Done. And done. Third thing?”
“I was thinking about names,” she begins. “I don’t know what will happen between us. . . if we get married—”
“When.”
“Okay, when we get married, but however, whenever it happens. . .I want Bear to have my last name. It was my mother’s.”
She sits up. Her eyes flit to his, unsure of how he’ll take it.
All Solomon does is nod. Intent. Serious. Then he says, “He should have it.”
Tessie sighs and leans into his wide shoulder. Is it possible to be drunk on a person? Because every time this man opens his mouth, the world swims. In the best possible way. She continues, a sudden shyness setting in. Curling her thin fingers in his chest hair, she murmurs, “I was thinking we could name him Wilder.”
The rocking stops. “Wilder?”
“Your last name.”
He blows out a long breath. In the dark, all she can see are his eyes. Shiny with tears.
“Yes” is all he says, and then he kisses her.
Breathless, they pull away.
I love you, Tessie mouths in the dark of the room.
I love you, Solomon mouths back.
The baby kicks in her belly.
And then they sleep.
Country music cuts through the chaos of Howler’s Roost. The booths are crammed with an assortment of wizened locals and curious tourists. People snag drinks, pluck Solomon’s appetizers off trays. Behind the bar, Howler mixes cocktails with expert precision.
Over Tessie’s head, a modern antler chandelier casts ambient rays of light.
Howler’s Roost is hopping.
The bar is packed with friends and family. The whole town turned up for the grand reopening. A show of support for Solomon and Howler that has her heart doing a slow, spastic thump-thump-thump. The black dress Tessie wears hugs her belly tightly, earning her curious stares. She’s shaken at least fifty hands tonight. Watched as the residents of Chinook pass by Solomon and squeeze his arm, congratulations spilling from their lips.
They see it. He’s back and he’s happy, and to Tessie, it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever witnessed.
Which is fitting, because at least once every five minutes, Solomon has to stop what he’s doing and make the same old introduction. “Yes, this is Tessie. Yes, she is pregnant. Yes, we’re having a baby together.” Not once letting loose of her hand, he hovers beside her like he’s personally been sent to attack if anyone tries to touch her belly.
Spread out across the room is Solomon’s family, including Evelyn, who sits at the bar, tapping on her phone with her signature scowl. Tessie and Solomon circle the perimeter of the crowd, offering hellos and warm welcomes.
“Heels?” Melody asks, bouncing up to them, her eyes on Tessie’s Manolos. “Of all nights?”
Solomon shakes his head. “I told her.”
Tessie sniffs and swats at him with her clutch. “I’ve been wearing boots all month. Tonight, I wear heels. It’s your party, Solomon. I have to look pretty.”
A grin tugs at his bearded lips as he looks down at her with an expression of pure awe on his face. A warm flush coats her cheeks at his devout attention. “You look beautiful,” he says, pulling her close.
Smiling, she rests her free hand against the side of her belly. It feels extra hard tonight.
“Tessie does look beautiful, but so does this bar.” Melody runs gleaming eyes over the space. She props her hands on her waist. “Can we talk about the wall of hatchets?”
Solomon lifts his beer, pride in his voice. “Tessie’s design magic in the wild.”
“The most important part is that they’re real,” Ash says, prowling up behind them. “And can be used against Howler in a pinch.”
Solomon booms a laugh that turns heads. Including Tessie’s. She can’t help but sneak a peek his way. In faded jeans that mold to his massive thighs, a wool-lined flannel, and a bearded jaw as chiseled as the mountains they live under, he looks every bit the rugged mountain man she fell in love with.
“Holy shit,” Jo says. Still in her scrubs, her black hair covered in snow, she trudges their way. “It’s blizzard central out there.”
Outside, the wind howls. Beyond the glass windows of the garage doors, snow falls.
Solomon looks worried.
“Great,” Ash says. “Just what we need. Serve them liquor and shove them into cars.”
“Howler’s going light on the booze,” Melody assures them. “But I’m not sure about Mom and Dad.” Giggling, she nods at their parents, who are two-stepping their way across the floor to the twangy croon of Tammy Wynette.
When there’s nothing from Solomon but a grunt, Tessie tugs on his arm. “You’re not smiling.”
“I’m glowering.”
“I can see that.” She scans his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He splays a wide palm over the small of her back. Tilting down, he kisses her temple. “Just counting the hours until I take you home to our bed.”
“Mmm,” she hums, shivering as his broad hand trails around the curve of her hip. The bar’s nice, but Solomon’s hands all over her body are even nicer. “Promise me we won’t leave the cabin for days and days.”
That, to her relief, brings a smile to his face. “Tess, baby, I can promise you that.”
The night spins on. Two people ask for Tessie’s business cards. One person goes in for a stomach rub but is blockaded by Solomon’s big body and scared away with a growl. Howler gives a quote to Thrillist, a picture is snapped, a cheer goes up around the room. Soon there’s talk of a speech as Solomon’s mother and father spring a cake shaped like a cocktail on him and Howler.
“I’ll get a lighter,” Tessie says over the din, squeezing Solomon’s arm to let him know she’s headed to the kitchen.
Hands propped on her hips, she scours the kitchen for a lighter. Spying a box of matches on a shelf full of recipe books, a shelf so high it can only be meant for Solomon, she glances around for a solution.
Then, victorious, she spies a pair of tongs on the counter. If she can’t use a stool or a ladder, she can be resourceful.
On her tiptoes and using the tongs as an extra-long arm, Tess clamps the box of matches and drags it toward her. Closer and closer. When she’s sure she’s got it, she yanks. But along with the matches comes a recipe book, both crashing onto the steel countertop with a clatter.
“Shit,” she swears.
Papers spill out of a book of recipes called Cooking Alaska. Not wanting any of Solomon’s notes to get lost in the mess, she picks them up, shuffles them into a pile. She’s folding them neatly to return them to the pages of the book when she freezes.
Her name. Her name’s on these papers.
Frowning, she reads.
As she does, every breath leaves her body. Her heartbeat slows, walking a fine knife-edge of panic. Her hands tremor. The papers in front of her feel like a sick, twisted joke. But they’re really there. And they cut.
Words like unfit and petition for custody and establish paternity slap her across the face.
“Oh my God,” Tessie whispers, bringing shaky fingertips to her lips when she sees the line for Solomon’s signature. Tears flood her eyes. Rejection twists her gut.
Betrayal.
Like a needle dropping on a vinyl, she starts.
Turning fast on her heel, she exits the kitchen and runs straight into Howler. He steadies her by the shoulders. “Whoa, slow it down, Goldilocks. Where you going?”
She rips away from him, scowls. “Away from here.”
“What’re you—” His bright blue eyes drop to the papers in her hands. He pales. Swallows. Attempts a smile. “Would you sit, Goldie? I’ll make you a drink.”
“You don’t want to make me a drink,” she hisses, pulling the papers to her heart. “You never have.”